


Of Thunder and Heat

by Cryo_Bucky, spikeymarshmallows



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bottom Steve Rogers, First Kiss, Fix-It of Sorts, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Wakanda (Marvel), We're just ignoring the last bit of Endgame TBH
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-02 10:36:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19197088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryo_Bucky/pseuds/Cryo_Bucky, https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikeymarshmallows/pseuds/spikeymarshmallows
Summary: After the smoke had cleared, and everything was eerily silent, Steve had stumbled over to him, tears tracking through the dirt and blood on his face. Steve had rested his forehead on Bucky's before burying his face in his shoulder, sagging under the weight of what Bucky soon learned had been five years.Cap RBB 2019 contribution, and somewhat of a fix-it for Endgame





	Of Thunder and Heat

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution to the Cap RBB 2019. Look guys! I wrote something that wasn't long, excessively smutty, nor excessively angsty! Thank you to the lovely [cryo_bucky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryo_Bucky/pseuds/Cryo_Bucky) for their beautiful art, their patience with me as I wrote this way too late, and generally being a good sport! Thank you to my lovely beta, [emptydistractions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emptydistractions) who always cheerleads and edits my stuff real good at the last minute. Please check out both the listed lovely folks! 
> 
> For once, no major warnings except there is some gorgeous NSFW art embedded in the fic ;)

He kept the arm. Try as he might to prove that he was no longer a weapon Bucky Barnes was always going to remain one to some degree. He wasn't like Steve—Bucky knew how to run away from a fight—it was more that he didn't have the luxury of being able to. He'd never wanted to go to war, but that choice had been taken away from him with a slip of paper. He hadn't wanted to stay in the war either, but leave Steve there? Without Bucky on his six? Not a fuckin' chance. 

He'd tried to walk away from it after… after. He'd tried to make a life for himself. He'd  _ made _ a life for himself, however unhappy he'd been in it; a life filled with a language he didn't know how he knew, filled with nights of screaming nightmares and… other kinds of dreams—ones that featured blond hair and blue eyes—until he had notebooks filled with things that might have been memories, and things that might have been dreams. It had been quiet. It had been peaceful, even if he had spent every spare second looking over his shoulder for enemies with faces he couldn't see. 

He'd gone back under, tried to remove the trigger words, tried to be something other than a weapon. The words were gone. He wasn't a weapon anymore, or so he kept insisting to himself. This second life he built was a little better. He wasn't just pretending to be happy; some days he actually was. He wasn't a risk to society. Even if it turned out that Shuri hadn't been able to entirely cure him, he wasn't a danger where he was. They had things in place, things to keep him safe, to keep others safe. The nightmares still came, the bad days that left him shaky and sweaty, but he was  _ healing. _

But then T'Challa had shown up. The White Wolf had rested long enough. He may have no longer been the Winter Soldier; but he was still a weapon, something to be used as necessary. 

He should have known better than to get his hopes up. 

And then, there had been another war. 

Like being a weapon, this was something that Bucky was used to. He'd been there in the forest, saw Steve be a  _ fucking idiot _ and  _ fight Thanos with his bare fucking hands _ , and then… Then there had been nothing. Nothing for a blink, and then… he was back, but things… things were different. He couldn't put his finger on why, and he didn't try to. He was used to this. Losing time, finding it again, things being different. Sometimes he only lost minutes; sometimes he lost decades. What else was fucking new? 

And then there had been a battle, one of the greatest he had ever witnessed, ever participated in. It wasn't like being in the trenches of WWII, but it was familiar at the same time. His body knew how to move, knew how to do things even when his mind went blank and he forgot. It was smooth, quiet in his head, and he could handle himself. When he'd seen Steve wield lightning, he'd only been momentarily distracted. Steve Rogers had always been worthy, even at 5ft nothing, and picking fights with kids three times his size. 

Bucky had kept Steve in the corner of his eye, taking down those that thought they could perhaps sneak up on him and take down Captain America in a sneak attack. Not on Bucky's watch, they fuckin' didn't. 

When the smoke had cleared, and everything was eerily silent, Steve had stumbled over to him, tears tracking through the dirt and blood on his face. His hands had trembled as they'd cradled Bucky's face, silent words on his lips before he gave Bucky a desperate, frantic kiss. Bucky had kissed back, taking it in stride, trying to quell the hope that leapt into his chest. After, Steve had rested his forehead on Bucky's before burying his face in his shoulder, sagging under the weight of what Bucky soon learned had been five years.

When the dead had been buried and the world was slowly trying to put itself back together, he'd learned what had happened. He'd accepted it with ease; this was a similar headspace for him.

He'd watched Steve stand on that platform, and a part of him had been sure that he wouldn't return, even after that… that stupid kiss. But after what felt like a lifetime (but was truly only ten seconds) he'd shown back up, stumbling a little. Both Bucky and Sam had lurched to grab him, Sam getting there first. It had only been seconds for them, but from the look on Steve's face, the lines that hadn't been there before, it could have been years. Or maybe Bucky had just never noticed the slow ageing in Steve's face, hadn't  _ wanted _ to see it. 

Steve had set his shoulders, passed the shield to Sam, and gotten on with it. They hadn't talked, but maybe Bucky had been a fool to expect that they might. He'd thought… Steve had given him another kiss before he'd disappeared, promising they'd talk later, but for now… for now, he had work to do. And before Bucky could get enough of his thoughts back to argue that Steve wouldn't go anywhere that Bucky wouldn't follow, he was gone. 

Bucky threw another bale of hay onto the stack, the  _ fwump _ breaking him out of his thoughts. Some days he was glad to have his own mind again; some days… some days he was not. And wasn't that the fucking cherry on top, to miss when his mind was blank, to miss not being plagued by anything other than MISSION MISSION MISSION. 

He threw another bale, and another, and another. It didn't make his muscles ache, although he knew it might for a normal man. Bucky was not normal. Trigger words aside, Bucky was still something else. 

It wasn't often he got to work out in the fields anymore. There was too much to do: cities to rebuild, a world to change. After they'd all come back, after all the funerals, there had been the sinking realisation that despite the return of half the universe, there was a great deal to patch up, that it was just as hard as when they'd all apparently disappeared. They'd all gotten to work, but Steve most of all. He'd taken the loss of his teammates hard, and seemed to be trying to replace Nat and Tony, trying to fix all that had been broken. 

And Bucky had gone back to Wakanda. There was a lot to fix, and he didn't feel as broken there. He  _ wasn't _ broken, not there. In Wakanda, he could help, or so he was assured by the steely gaze of Okoye as he was silently put to work. 

And he kept the arm. Because he wasn't sure when he'd need it again. 

Because try as he might to be otherwise, he was always going to be a weapon, a tool of some kind. 

Bucky supposed he could live with that; at least he was a weapon that was  _ free _ . 

 

*

 

Compared to other countries, Wakanda had fared better than many, but it still required much work. More than anything else, they sent aid to other parts of the world, assisted where they could, further spreading the Wakandan name. Things had quieted a little; the work was endless, but the hardest parts were over. Now, it was just rebuilding the world, brick by brick. 

It had only been a month (but felt like a hell of a lot longer than that) when Steve showed up. There wasn't as much fanfare as there once was; wasn't the time nor the money nor the resources, but there was clear excitement from the few that told Bucky that Steve was coming. What might have once made him delighted, a little warm tickling in his gut, felt kind of twisted. They hadn't talked, hadn't spoken in a very long time. There hadn't been the regular Skype calls that usually accompanied Steve's trips away, but Bucky tried not to take it personally. There was a lot going on and it's not like Bucky had the time to be sitting around in front of shiny computers, updating Steve on everything that had been happening; knowing Steve, he probably had even less time. 

Bucky was excited. At least, he thought he was. There was a small part of him that was terrified, and that in itself was, well, terrifying. Very little scared Bucky anymore, not pain, not death. But seeing Steve again now? Well, that was enough to make the White Wolf quake in his boots—or sandals as it were. Metaphorically speaking, of course, given that those reactions had been trained out of him.

Steve's visit drew near; they didn't usually get a huge amount of warning, just a few days, and Steve's crackled picture flashing up to warn them of his impending arrival. But he wasn't due for another day, something Bucky was glad for. Bucky was out in the fields again today, and it was painfully hot, humid, and sticky. Even his light tunic stuck to his skin, and the air was so thick he felt like he could choke on it. There would almost certainly be a thunderstorm later but for now, the sun bore down and made everything around him hazy. With the thunderstorm, there would be a cool change, a break in the weather that would make it far more enjoyable. And his hair wouldn't frizz; that bit was important too. 

He enjoyed working in the fields, was glad to have a few days out here. There were often other things to do, tasks more vital than the physical labour he could provide here, but it was still a task in need of attendance. He'd been having a bad few days closer to the Golden City; nothing too intense, but the sounds, and the people, and the people, and the sounds… They had gotten under his skin and made him sweat and breathe a little harder. It was quieter out here, peaceful, even if he did have too much time alone with his thoughts. The only sounds were that of the animals, and if he strained (he didn't), he could make out the noises of the city in the distance. There weren't any children around, nor was there a breeze to rustle the grass and leaves on the trees. 

"I get that you're superhuman, but I am really struggling to understand how the hell you're working in heat like this."

Bucky didn't flinch, but only due to years and years of practice. He reacted, sometimes, but still far less than the usual human. Nobody was able to sneak up on him, except Steve, and Na-… well, she was gone now, so he wasn't going to think about it, couldn't afford to think about it. There was work to be done. 

He turned around slowly, grimacing inwardly. "You're early," he stated flatly. 

"Surprise," Steve said, mouth twisting into a wry semblance of a smile. "Happy to see me?" 

"No," Bucky's tone remained flat. "I haven't showered, I'm sweating like an animal and my hair is disgusting. Least you could do is give a guy a few hours warning." 

"Does your hair really take hours?" Steve asked, cocking his head thoughtfully before a thought seemingly caught up with him and he answered his own question. "Wait, no, don't tell me, I know what you used to be like. I doubt that's changed." 

Bucky scowled at him, trying not to take note of how damn good he looked. He wasn't dressed as Cap anymore, and never would be again thanks to Sam, and he wasn't in his dark Nomad gear either. Instead, he wore a simple white tee that hid absolutely  _ nothing _ , and jeans. The sun caught his hair, and with the light as it was, he almost bore a halo. The beard was back, and… he looked… well…  Bucky's mouth dried up and he cringed at his own appearance. He hadn't washed his hair in days and was wearing muddy, sweaty clothing. Ugh! 

He stomped past Steve towards his hut, any potential effect of his angry steps lost by the swishing of the grass around his bare feet. Steve's quiet chuckle met Bucky's ears, even through the sounds of the animals, but maybe that was just because Bucky was listening for it now. 

Like everything in Wakanda, his home was a seamless integration of technology and the natural surroundings. The floors weren't packed dirt, but wood, and what looked to be a simple mud hut from the outside was a cosy, comfortable space inside, far bigger than met the eye. The walls were reinforced with technology he still had yet to comprehend, keeping him stable, keeping him safe. The space kept his bed, piles of books neatly stacked beside it, a small table, and several chairs. He didn't need much, and it suited him perfectly. It was safe, warm, and clean. And it was his. 

He ducked into the bathroom that adjoined his hut; it, too, gave the appearance of natural space, but somehow always had perfectly hot water in the shower. He stripped off his clothes and turned the water on full pelt, letting it rain down on him. Behind him he heard Steve enter the hut, moving with a slow steady pace that reminded Bucky of a predator. 

"You've always been such a priss about your appearance," Steve commented, chuckling again as he leaned against the door frame. Bucky scowled as he looked over at him, running his fingers through his hair to bring water into it, detangling it with his fingers. He didn't try to hide his body from Steve—they'd seen each other naked more times than they could count in the many years they'd spent together. But it was the first time Steve had seen him naked since the kiss, and he had to force himself not to think about that too much, lest it show on his face or other areas. 

Bucky snorted, ducking his head under the water to avoid the conversation. But as soon as he emerged, Steve just kept talking, as if this was a perfectly normal thing to do. The fragments of memory told him that for Steve it was, but it wasn't anything recent, so it still felt odd and out of place. Steve, on the other hand, looked perfectly content, arms crossed over his broad chest as he idly watched Bucky shower. Weirdo. 

Cleaner now, but admittedly not even a third of the way through his usual hair routine, Bucky shut off the water and grabbed the thick, heavy bath towel that hung against the wall, drying himself briskly. Even with his harsh movements the soft towel was plush and gentle against his skin, as if even the idea of being rough with himself in his hygiene practices was unacceptable to Wakandan hospitality. 

Steve gave him a tired smile, stepping aside to let him back into the main part of his living space, and then continued to hover as Bucky pulled on fresh clothes: a light red tunic and blue wrap that he knew brought out his eyes, rather than the drab military green he'd been wearing but ten minutes before. He wrung his hair out, but didn't overly mind that it dripped onto his back. The air was still so sticky, even with the gentle cooling and artificial breeze that filled his home, that the wetness of his hair on his cotton clothing was a welcome respite. 

Finally, feeling and looking somewhat less like something the goats had walked in, Bucky turned back to Steve, folding his arms across his chest. "Asshole," he stated tartly. "Give a guy some warning so he can look his best next time, will you?" Still, despite the sharpness of his tone the warm feeling in his stomach had grown and spread through to his chest, threatening to overwhelm him if he wasn't careful. He took a shaky breath, so quiet that he doubted even Steve could hear. 

A hush fell over the hut, and Bucky realised how close Steve was. So near, yet so far. Just out of arm's reach, somewhat of a metaphorical representation of their entire relationship, if Bucky looked at it sideways. Steve stared at him, all his confidence from before slowly seeming to seep out of him, until he was nothing more than the Steve Bucky had known for apparently a good part of his life. There was no bravado there, just a normal man. 

"You know," Steve went on, as if he wasn't noticing Bucky's discomfort (and of course he had noticed; Steve had always been annoyingly perceptive), "I don't know why you're worried. I've seen you looking far worse than this and I still think…" He trailed off, voice croaking a little as he seemed to suddenly be at a loss for words. "I still think you're perfect." 

Bucky licked his lower lip, studying Steve's face as if it were the first time, or he'd just regained his memories. It felt new, and yet familiar. There were lines that hadn't been there the last time Bucky had seen him. Steve Rogers did not age as mere men did, but that did not mean he was immortal. The weariness looked new on him, although Bucky knew it was not. This was a man who tried his best to bear the weight of the world at all times, and it was finally starting to show. Bucky wanted to pull him in close, to take some of the burden from him, ease it if only for a second. It was okay; Bucky was strong enough. 

"Steve," Bucky breathed, struggling to find words for the incalculable feelings bubbling inside him. 

Before he could get some trite expression out, some words that would no doubt fail to express what he felt, Steve had crossed the small space between them, and pulled him into a kiss that threatened to make him weak in the knees. Like everything with Steve, it was hot, and furious, and intense, and felt weirdly akin to launching himself out of a plane without a parachute. Bucky's arms went around Steve's shoulders. Steve brought him in so close that it was a wonder that his ribs didn't crack. His heart raced, and his skin flamed hotter than any Wakandan summer.

His knees felt weak, but Steve was strong and stable against him. Steve eased the kiss just a little, but didn't draw back or even reduce his tight grip on Bucky. His mind was mush, and it was only when Steve broke the kiss finally that any semblance of thought returned to him. He blinked blearily at Steve, breathing hard; Steve was just as effected, staring at Bucky with a mixture of heat and what might have been wonder.

"I love you." Steve's voice was quiet, but his tone was firm. "I've loved you for longer than I can remember, since I was a scrawny runt that fought bullies in back alleys. I've lost you…" He swallowed, clenching his jaw visibly before he continued, voice a little harsher. "I've lost you too many times, and I couldn't not tell you. Not again." 

Bucky blinked rapidly, the heat that had swamped him simmering down to a warmth that he hoped never left. It was softness, like cotton candy or molten hot chocolate filling him, but not making him sick, just filling him and making parts of him soften in ways he didn't know still could. 

"I love you too," he managed to get out. It felt strange to say the words; he'd never said them before, not like this. He'd told his Ma and his sisters that he loved them. But as soon as he'd realised what Steve meant to him—and that was something he'd realised at far too early an age—saying the words to anyone but Steve would have been a darned lie. James Buchanan Barnes was many things, but he was not a liar. And god help him, he loved Steve Fuckin' Rogers—had done even without his memories, and would do so until his dying breath. 

"I know," Steve said, eyes twinkling and a soft smile on his face. Bucky could feel his heart pounding against his chest, where they were still pressed impossibly close together. And then Steve kissed him again, cupping his face and rubbing at the bristles on his jaw gently with his thumb. 

Saying that he loved someone was new, but kissing? Kissing Bucky could do. It had been a long time, possibly seventy or eighty years from what he could tell, since he'd kissed someone. But if Steve's reactions were anything to go by, he wasn't as out of practice as he feared. Everything about Steve was solid and hard;  _ everything _ . Bucky was in the same boat, and his thin cotton clothing would do even less to hide that fact than Steve's jeans would. 

He managed to draw away for a breath, lightheaded on sensation. Words fell from his mouth without him really thinking about them, just a question that he regretted asking as soon as the words escaped. "What took you so long?" 

Talking was the exact opposite of what he wanted to do. Less talking, more kissing. Maybe less clothing too, if he could help it. It was still stiflingly hot, even without the kisses and Steve's body against his. 

Steve withdrew a little further than he had before and Bucky suppressed a whine. Even with the sweat gluing their bodies together, he missed Steve's heat. 

A rueful expression crossed Steve's face. "There was the war… I wasn't sure… And then you." He swallowed, left  _ 'the train _ ' or  _ 'you fell' _ go unsaid between them. "When I found you again, you didn't remember. And then… you were trying to get better. I didn't want to get in the way of that. And then… Thanos…" He shrugged, more to himself than to Bucky, eyes trained on the space beside him as if the floor was the most interesting thing in the world. 

"Because kissing me would be so traumatic," Bucky huffed, sarcasm lacing his words. 

Steve pulled a face. "You still don't remember everything. What if it was something you didn't want? What if you took it the wrong way, or felt like you, I don't know, owed me or something." 

Bucky didn't repress his eye roll.  _ Self-sacrificing idiot. _ Steve's grin was a little tighter around the edges; lines appeared at the corners of his eyes. "Well, I'm glad you did it now," Bucky said, not wanting to talk anymore than they already had, and tugged Steve back into a kiss that was more teeth than anything else. 

Steve crowded him back, trying to get as close to him as possible, until the back of his legs hit the chest of drawers that pressed against the wall. Without pausing, Steve lifted Bucky onto that. Bucky wrapped his legs around him, burying his flesh hand in Steve's longer hair, pulling it until Steve gasped. 

Everything was on fire, and he tasted sweat and heat in Steve's mouth, the bristles of his beard surprisingly soft against his own. His clothing felt too tight, and he wanted it gone but he didn't want to pull away from Steve long enough to even do that. It seemed Steve had other ideas, however, pulling his too-tight tee over his head, throwing it across the hut as if the item was offensive. It didn't expose that much more of Steve's skin to Bucky's hands, but he grasped Steve's shoulders and neck nonetheless, trying to memorise exactly how Steve felt under his hands lest this be an intense dream, or a reality that he would never get to repeat. 

They broke away, panting again, but this time neither of them spoke. If Bucky had still believed in God, he might have uttered his thanks to them right then. Steve uttered a brief, "Can I?" As he gestured at Bucky's wrap, voice so soft that it didn't break the moment. Bucky nodded, mouth dry, lips swollen. He couldn't even find it within him to make a teasing comment about how he wouldn't have gotten dressed again if he'd known that this was where things had been headed. Instead, he just watched as Steve's faintly trembling hands unfastened the wrap and eased his tunic down past his shoulders. Had Steve done this before? He wasn't brave enough to ask, least of all because he wasn't sure what answer he wanted. Steve hadn't done much back before the war, and after that… Bucky wasn't sure. 

Steve's eyes followed the vibrant scarring on his shoulder, down to black and gold arm that still didn't really feel like his, tracing the muscles of his chest before they stopped. Steve licked his lower lip, seemingly speechless. Bucky was glad that he was so warm, that his cheeks were no doubt flushed already, otherwise he might have blushed. He had a small piercing through his nipple, something he'd acquired shortly after escaping HYDRA. It had been done in an effort to feel, to see if he still could; an attempt to differentiate himself from the Asset and become his own person. He hadn't acquired more, but he still liked the tiny piece of metal that he'd chosen for himself. 

Given Steve's entranced expression, he suspected Steve liked it for entirely different reasons. Steve brushed a gentle thumb over the metal, the touch close to imperceptible, but it sent goosebumps across Bucky’s skin and made him shiver minutely. Steve bit his lower lip, eyes now darting between Bucky's face and his chest. 

"I like it," Steve said, voice still low and soft. 

Bucky grinned wolfishly, some of his confidence coming back with how utterly enchanted Steve appeared, and now that he was admittedly a little love-drunk. "Hadn't noticed, champ," he teased. 

Steve returned his wide smile then, his eyes returning to Bucky's face and staying there this time; some of the intensity had faded. Bucky was relieved, much more at ease now. He was again reminded that he wasn't sure how much Steve had done with another person, and resolved to let him call the shots, take the lead. Bucky was good at that. Something told him that he'd been like that before, letting the girls he necked with be the ones in control, pick and choose where they started and when they stopped. 

After several few softer kisses, Steve drew back, lashes fluttering as his vision cleared and he glanced down between them. "Can I?" 

Bucky nodded again, not sure exactly what he was agreeing to, but giving an enthusiastic 'yes' no matter what it was. There was a hint of nervousness in Steve's face, but he went on as if he wasn't, as was the Steve Rogers way. He kissed down Bucky’s neck, no hesitance in his movements, and eased himself to his knees, the movement seeming more fluid than Bucky remembered. They were both still mostly dressed, but Bucky's tunic made for easier access than he'd ever realised until, well, now. 

He spread his legs a little wider, holding his breath, but for what, he didn't know. Steve's muscles glistened with sweat, and there were pale red lines across his shoulders from where Bucky had dragged his nails. They were fading before his eyes; it was always so strange, and at times unpleasant, to see Steve heal in front of him. Steve glanced up at him again, blue eyes boring into his, and he licked his lower lip again. For all their frantic kisses before, Steve now moved with an aching slowness, one that threatened to make him lose his cool and insist he  _ hurry the fuck up _ . Bucky was glad he'd at least foregone underwear today, making it a matter of simply pushing his tunic to the top of his thighs. Steve's mouth twisted into a little smirk though, and his big hand came to Bucky's length and gripped him. Bucky exhaled shakily, hoping he wouldn't lose control in an instant. 

Steve's breath danced over his cock and Bucky's hands spasmed on the wooden dresser. It took more self-control than he'd like to admit not to splinter the wood. Finally, Steve took him into his mouth, and Bucky had to yank his hands away from any furniture he didn't wish to destroy. He inhaled sharply, exhaled breathily once again. It felt  _ so good _ . His memories of his time at HYDRA were foggy, but he was fairly certain that sexual pleasure wasn't something they sought to give him. There were flashes of unpleasantness there, but he was grateful to realise that it hadn't impacted his ability to enjoy things with someone he cared about. 

He fought against the sounds that threatened to escape his mouth, but rumbled in his throat. Steve took his time exploring with his mouth and hand, touching and testing, and seeing what Bucky reacted to, and which reactions Bucky liked best. It was a tease, building then easing, over and over. He ached and trembled, his hands alternating between grasping Steve's hair and neck, brushing his cheeks and throat to feel himself in Steve. Steve coughed a few times when he got too enthusiastic, but that seemed to spur him on further, as if he were in competition with himself. Knowing Steve as he did, he probably was. It was dizzying, and when he finally came down Steve's throat, it was with a strangled moan, and the wood finally splintered under his flesh hand. 

Steve looked downright smug when he drew away, lips wonderfully swollen and hair a mess. 

"That okay?" He asked, voice rough and raspy. Bucky nodded breathlessly, pulling him into a deep kiss that started heated and turned languid and slow as moments passed. 

Bucky brushed his nose against Steve's as they drew apart, wrapping his legs around Steve's waist and feeling where he was still hard against his stomach. That needed taking care of, stat. 

"Bed?" Bucky asked into the lazy kisses, and Steve nodded, humming happily against his mouth. 

It surprised him when Steve lifted him; not because he doubted Steve's ability, but rather that it felt strange to be lifted like he was weightless. But then he was being laid across the firm mattress close to the ground. His bed was on slats, to let the air through, and he'd turned it into somewhat of a nest, one with several thick, soft blankets and pillows. Even in summer he liked to have all the blankets on the bed, even if he didn't lie beneath them. They were simply soft, there for comfort, to remind him at all times that he wasn't where he used to be, that he finally had a place of his own. 

Steve brought him back to the present with warm fingertips on his cheek, stroking gently. 

"You okay in there?" Steve asked, studying his face. Bucky nodded wordlessly and drew him into another lazy kiss. He wasn't sure if it was the air that was stifling, or the overwhelmingness of the situation that made his breath catch in his throat. 

This time, they managed to stop kissing long enough to remove their clothes, and take their time exploring each others bodies. Steve's body was just as perfect as he'd always imagined. Steve treated Bucky like he wasn't something broken, but like he might be just as beautiful himself. It was a nice lie to believe, even if only for a moment. 

When Bucky finally entered Steve, the moment was still and one of quiet gasps and desperately kept restraint. They simply stared at each other for long moments, exchanging sweet kisses until Steve finally relaxed. What started as slow and gentle quickly heated again, Steve rolling Bucky over onto his back and taking control even as Bucky took him. Bucky gave as good as Steve did though, dragging his blunt nails across Steve's back, biting into the junction between Steve’s shoulder and neck, and burying his hands in Steve's hair. 

Even though it had been a lifetime since Bucky had done this, like fighting he seemed to remember how to do it. Even though he'd never done this with Steve, he learned quickly what he liked, and how to make him sob dryly into Bucky as he shook and spasmed. 

They did it again twice more before they finally felt able to draw more than a foot from each other. Bucky fetched them water. They may have been super soldiers, but they were still humans capable of experiencing dehydration. Steve took the glass with a laugh, downing it quickly. 

"Trying to get me ready for another round?" Steve teased when Bucky kept bringing him water until he stopped chugging it and moved onto smaller sips.

"Not yet," Bucky said mildly, laying back down on the mess of bedsheets and blankets again. 

Steve curled around him, seemingly happy to ignore the sweat between them. Bucky didn't mind either, bringing his head to rest against Steve's shoulder. Outside he heard an enormous thunderclap, saw the flash of lightning through the windows and door. There was a cool change in the atmosphere already, and the air smelled like sex, and beyond that, rain. Any moment now thick, fat raindrops would begin to pelt down against the roof, filling the lake with water, and bringing life to the crops. He felt Steve's gaze on him, and he dragged his eyes from the window, where he'd been silently counting the animals outside and ensuring they were hiding from the storm. Each animal accounted for, he tucked himself in closer to Steve, humming softly. 

"When do you leave?" he asked into the silence that lay between rumbling thunder. 

"A few days. There's still so much to do. I'm trying to continue the work that Na… That she did." Steve still couldn't say her name either. It was okay; Bucky understood. 

"Will you at least Skype me this time?" A part of Bucky yearned to go with him, to ensure that nothing could hurt Steve, including himself and his own stupid decisions. 

Steve played idly with some of Bucky's hair; it was still damp but this time Bucky wasn't sure if it was from sweat or his shower earlier. Regardless, Steve didn't seem to mind and so neither did Bucky. 

"You could come with me," Steve said after a long silence. The deep pressure of the thunder was building, and Bucky was idly listening out for the first drop of rain. The temperature was rapidly dropping and he resisted a shiver, instead choosing to busy himself with grabbing blankets to pull over him and Steve. Steve was warm and still sticky with sweat, but enveloped in his arms and the blankets, Bucky felt warmer and safer than he knew was possible. 

It was a tempting offer. He didn't want to fight anymore, but nor did Steve. Steve wasn't fighting now, but instead trying to rebuild the world amidst the significant losses they'd suffered. He could protect Steve. He didn't know what the future held, not with the world, not with he and Steve. But something told him that Steve was forever; Steve had always been his forever, no matter which way he looked at it. 

Bucky Barnes didn't want to be a weapon anymore, but that didn't change what he was. He was a weapon, but he was a weapon that was free. And he was also a weapon that would always protect Steve. 

"I'll think about it," he mused to Steve as he finally heard the first smattering of raindrops land on his roof, slowly and then all at once. Steve pulled him in closer, pressed a kiss to his forehead, smoothed the stray hairs that had fallen across his face. 

And for now, that was enough. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> You can find me on le twitter, [le tumblz](https://spikeymarshmallows.dreamwidth.org/>dreamwidth</a>,%20and%20<a%20href=).


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